


Ice-Cream

by Maulfan



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Loki is probably a troll, M/M, Mind Affecting Spells, UST, avengerkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maulfan/pseuds/Maulfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonys arc reactor is stolen, he doesn't have a spare one. Thor's solution? Loki. And now he's stuck with an (oddly attractive-No he did <em>not</em> just think that) Loki constantly feeding him magic to keep him alive. Until he can build a new arc reactor. Unfortunately, the side effect of this spell is Tony being horny as hell.</p>
<p>(Written for Avengerkink)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice-Cream

  
**_Icecream_ **

“Shit.”

“That’s it Clint? Really? Some asshole stole Tony’s reactor and all you can say is shit?”

“Fuck?”

Tony can hear their voices, distantly. Clint. Tasha. They sound like they’re coming from miles away and everything’s blurring like someone’s smeared oil over his eyes.

He’s dying. He’s really dying. Shrapnel is piercing its way through into his heart and he can’t do a fucking thing because he’s too far gone to scream at them to just use a fucking car battery like Yinsen did.

He wants Bruce to be here. But there’s only the Hulk. Blood bubbles upwards as he tries to speak and it occurs to him to wonder if the shrapnel has gone too far for a car battery now anyway. No one notices. They’re too busy yelling and smashing and he knows the sound of it would make him wince if he wasn’t too sluggish to move.

And then Steve’s there and he’s saying something and his lips are moving but all Tony can hear is a distant roaring. He tries to focus on them, to read them, and it’s not hard. Steve has nice lips.

Thor. He’s saying something about Thor. Or is it sore? And ‘only’? Odd. Absently he wishes he could ask Steve what he means but he’s too far gone to care.

He feels a sudden rush of wind next to his face and he can almost bring himself to wonder what it is. But the darkness beckons, warm and soothing and he wants to give in. To bask in it even if something inside him is screaming distantly to wake up. It wraps around him like a blanket, and he is sinking, sinking into the black.

He barely registers the sudden pain as his armor is torn open on the arm and something cool is pressed against it. Until suddenly the soothing darkness is ripped back and reality assails him like a clout on the nose. The world clicks back into painful, bright focus and something feels remarkably... pleasant. Pleasurable even.

He looks around. And freezes.

“Shit. Loki? You brought _Loki_?”

“Aye my friend,” Thor booms, “My brother’s magic is powerful indeed. He has agreed to aid us, for a price of one year’s free supply of peppermint choc-chip ice-cream.”

“Ice-cream.”

“Free ice-cream. Which saves me the effort of stealing it,” Loki confirms.

“Ice-cream,” Tony says again, brain stuck.

“Ice-cream is pleasant,” Loki says defensively, flushing slightly, “And Thor refused to give me the infinity gauntlet.”

“You’re saving me for _ice-cream_.”

Loki manages to roll his eyes elegantly. Then he turns towards his brother.

“The spell I have cast is not perfect. Nor will it fix whatever is the matter with your friend. Has he another of his arc-reactors? If so, I suggest you fetch it.”

Thor opens his mouth, then closes it, then says:

“Tony?”

Silence. Hulk’s finished smashing now and everyone’s looking at the metal-clad billionaire prone on the floor.

“... no?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve groans.

“I just never really got round to making a second lot of a practically-impossible-to-make, non-existent element,” he offers defensively.

“But you can again, right?” Steve eventually says.

“... maybe?”

“Shit.”

Natasha punches Clint’s upper arm.

“Oh well. If he’s going to die anyway I do have useful ways I can occupy my time, Thor,” the nasty supervillain says.

Tony can feel, suddenly, that awful darkness beckoning. He wants to snatch at the pale wrist before Loki can move but he can’t move and he’s suddenly very aware of that.

“I can fix it again. Give it a couple of days. A week? I can make it,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

Thor snatches his little brother’s arm.

“Loki, you will stay and help my friend. Won’t you?”

Ouch for the puppy-eyes.

“Fine,” Loki groans. And the pleasant soothing is back in full force, “But only for one week.”

OoOoOoOoO

Day one, when they all get back, isn’t so bad. Tony sets up some stuff, orders in some new equipment, starts setting up a mini-cylotron again. It’s hard to focus, at first, with Loki glued to his upper arm, and he probably gets more distracted than he should by the thin lips and the sleek, dusky hair.

He blames it on the ever-present, tantalising shadow of pleasure which is the side effect of the magic.

It’s harder to ignore that night, when Loki climbs into bed with him with bad grace and tells him to keep his hands to himself. He dreams of wetness and budding softness and sucking and wakes up sweaty and embarrassingly hard. Loki’s asleep and he tries not to notice how vulnerable, how tempting, the pale face is when it’s relaxed like this. And he's got to be screwed if he's thinking of _him_ as tempting.

Magic.

He wants a cold shower.

“Loki. Loki?” he says.

The green eyes are open in an instant and the sorcerer groans at Tony’s request. His eyes narrow in amusement a moment later.

“I see,” he says.

Tony is happy, for once, that his shower curtains aren’t see through. The pale arm extending through is... distracting though. Especially with the way the water trickles down the long, pale fingers onto his own body going down and down and... Damn it. He decides he’s going to get the thing done in one day. He did last time.

Steve opts to watch him, with Bruce. The former because he wants to keep an eye on Loki, the latter because he’s actually interested. Loki himself insisted Thor remain absent.

He manages to ignore the way just brushing against Loki is starting to send jolts of pleasure through him. Hell, brushing against anything is. His lower body is hidden beneath the desk, and he’s glad it’s shadowed on the other side.

He has spare cores—that’s not the problem. But it’s hard to focus on creating the new element when just moving is making him hard.

He destroys the workshop on day 2. Jarvis is kind enough to inform him the cyclotron was unstable and the element created is not vibranium. Tony is sweating that evening, and when he wakes that night he’s pressed against Loki, who watches him with wary eyes. Half of him hates himself for wanting to touch the insane supervillain. The other half, growing stronger, just wants to press closer and closer to soothe the aching pleasure.

“You need another shower,” Loki tells him.

Tony, eying him from under heavy lids, concedes the bastard has a point.

OoOoOoOoO

Day three is... memorable. For all the wrong reasons.

Tony sets up another cyclotron with shaking hands, and it takes him twice as long as it should have even with Bruce helping. Bruce doesn’t look at his lower waistline. Steve flushes whenever his gaze drifts down.

And then Loki brushes against him. It’s not his fault, much as Tony would like to blame him for it. He’s standing an arm length backwards, watching the vibranium model with fascination, and it's just bad timing that he moves forward a bit when Tony steps backwards to grab a welder from the desk.

He brushes straight against the demigod and suddenly he’s assailed by a wave of burning pleasure so intense it’s all he can do not to moan.

It’s like something’s taken control of his body and he can’t fight it because it’s _him_. He can feel everything and remember everything, but it’s distant. So distant. And even as his last shred of sanity tells him he doesn’t want this, whatever this is, he presses closer to the tall, lithe body.

And this time he does moan.

Steve looks up, flushing beet red.

Bruce quickly leaves the lab, muttering something about ‘the other guy’.

And Loki? Loki looks vaguely taken aback and more than a shade regretful.  


“As pleasant as this is, Stark, you do have a job you’re supposed to be doing.”

Tony mumbles something and shakes his head.

Steve steps forwards.

“Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing to him, Loki.”

“I? I am simply maintaining the spell which is saving your little friend’s life. But by all means, say the word and I will be gone.”

The good captain is silent.

Tony presses himself closer against the supervillain, who sighs.

It might have been longsuffering or resigned. He takes it as pleasure and starts shifting slightly, trying to build up delicious friction. There’s nothing now but this. It comes and goes in tantalising waves but it’s never quite deep enough and he wants— _needs_ —more. He’s tearing at the leather now, ignoring the way his nails crack as he tries to dig his way in underneath to the soft, smooth flesh. He needs to get in and he can’t and he wants to scream for pure _frustration_.

Somebody’s saying “fuck me, please. Just please, fuck me” and he’s vaguely aware it’s him.

Words are rushing past him. He’ll remember them, later. But now they’re just wind, useless and meaningless and _why won’t Loki respond?_ What does he have to _do_ for the sensation, for the release, he craves? Is he truly that pathetic that he cannot persuade one man—demigod—to take him?

Loki’s arm is rising and for a brief, blissful moment he thinks finally, finally, this is it. But then green light is swirling about around and around and it’s nothing. He tries latching onto the long, slender fingers to pull them down but they’re too strong. Won’t be controlled. Then light’s gone and there are words and more words howling past.

Maybe pleasure will sway the sorcerer. He tries taking the hand, licking and sucking gently on all the most sensitive parts; knuckle joints, fingers.

He’s rewarded with a soft gasp. But no sensation.

A door slams somewhere close.

Tony moves his mouth upwards. Maybe lips are the key. He crashes his lips towards the demigod’s hoping, praying, that this will be enough.

He finds himself abruptly spun about before their lips can connect and then Loki’s seated uncomfortably on the desk and Tony’s on his lap, one strong arm channelling the delicious energy into his shoulder, the other clamped about his waist, restricting his arms to his sides.

The friction is good, but it’s not enough and he wants. Needs. He tries squirming because there’s something hard beneath him and in his half-aware state he doesn’t know if it’s the armour or the softer flesh he craves.

“Please, please,” he’s whimpering, and why won’t Loki have mercy?

Infinities later, the door reopens.

Someone else—Steve—is standing in front of him and they’re holding a cylindrical device which is glowing softly blue.

There are words again but he isn’t listening. He wants to grind himself down and down but he can’t work up the momentum and he _needs_ so very badly.

Something’s being inserted into his chest, and it makes him shiver suddenly at the coldness of it.

And Loki finally, finally removes his hands.

OoOoOoOoO

It’s like walking up from a long sleep.  
  
Tony is suddenly aware he’s sitting on the lap of a crazy supervillain and he’s hard as a rock. He jerks upwards and away and becomes unpleasantly aware two steps later that he’s weak and more overstrained than he'd realised when his legs decide to give out. He staggers, leaning against the desk, and either he’s too big or the room’s too small because suddenly it’s hard to breathe.  
  
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles over and over, wincing as memory and awareness come crashing back.  
  
“Quite,” Loki says, pushing himself gracefully upwards to his feet. If he’s having similar troubles to Tony, the armour masks it.  
  
Steve’s looking seven parts concerned, two parts wary and one embarrassed.  
  
“Are you... yourself?” he asks.  
  
Tony groans and sends him as much of a glare as he can up the summon energy for.  
  
“Why didn’t anyone stop me? I can’t believe you let me do that,” he whines.  
  
“It was hard. We couldn’t break contact and Loki said that was what was making you so, ah...”  
  
“Needy? Horny?”  
  
“Something like that,” Steve coughs.  
  
Tony manages to make his way over to a seat.  
  
The world swims and dark spots dance in front of his eyes. Curses spill from his lips as he cradles his aching head.  
  
Scotch. He needs scotch. Ten tumblers of it _yesterday_.  
  
“Well, I think we can all agree I’ve upheld my end of the deal,” Loki says, smoothing back his hair and straightening his clothes.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So if there’s no more business to attend to, I’ll collect my voucher and leave,” Loki says, extending one hand to Steve.  
  
His eyes flick to Tony, still cradling his head weakly in his chair, and he smiles crookedly.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll eventually get over the humiliation of wanting to bed my repulsive self.”  
  
Tony manages to look upwards, meeting the vaguely sympathetic gaze. He shouldn’t care what Thor’s evil little brother thinks but somehow his lack of contempt gives Tony strength. Makes him feel a little better about his total loss of control.  
  
“I hate magic. No, really. I _hate_ magic. And the... does it always do _that_?”  
  
“No. But when one is forced to cobble together a new spell at short notice without testing, and to maintain it for prolonged periods, there can be side effects.”  
  
“Must be nice. For the bedroom.”  
  
Loki’s lips quirk upwards.  
  
“Indeed. Though at present constant concentration is required to maintain it, even in sleep, which would seem to preclude the obvious application.”  
  
That... explains a lot.  
  
“So you did want me?” Tony asks.  
  
“Not enough to risk being smashed by Mjolnir,” Loki says bluntly.  
  
“But you did a bit?” Tony wheedles.  
  
Loki raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he says evasively.  
  
And then Steve’s pulling out a scrap of paper and passing it to the leather-clad supervillain.  
  
“Farewell, Stark. Rogers,” Loki says with a flourishing wave.  
  
And then he’s gone in a swirl of green energy and Tony’s half wondering why he hasn’t murdered them in their sleep if it’s this easy and half hot and bothered and in need of, forget cold, an ice shower.  
  
He doesn’t come out for two hours.  
  
It’s only when he looks at the arc reactor, really looks, that he suddenly realises he never made the vibranium. But who—of course. The green light when he’d snapped. Loki. Loki had... saved him? But why? For ice-cream?  
  
He sighs, glaring into the mirror.  
  
One thing’s certain: The next battle with the trickster is going to be _hell_.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Avengerkink [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/5102.html?thread=4498414#t4498414/)


End file.
